


It's a Christmas Miracle, Bucky Barnes

by Epiphanyx7, sparrowshellcat



Series: Avengers-Having-Babies [6]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Fantastic Four, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), X-Men (Movies)
Genre: F/F, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-24
Updated: 2014-12-24
Packaged: 2018-03-03 07:31:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2843087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Epiphanyx7/pseuds/Epiphanyx7, https://archiveofourown.org/users/sparrowshellcat/pseuds/sparrowshellcat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony Stark tends to go over the top. With everything. Unfortunately, his over the top display at the Thanksgiving Day Parade means he's not there to protect his children. </p><p>But the Winter Soldier is. </p><p>And Bucky Barnes will be damned if he lets this Santa Claus bastard sneak into the house with these unprotected children.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's a Christmas Miracle, Bucky Barnes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Epiphanyx7](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Epiphanyx7/gifts).



> I apologize so much for taking so long for the next story in the series! I will try not to take so long next time. Hope you enjoy! This next part of the series never would have happened if not for the wonderful Epiphanyx7, and as always, I am in her eternal debt. Hopefully I can get the rest of the series going to make up for it.
> 
> I do not own Marvel, obviously, so all of this is borrowed without permission, but with great respect.
> 
> \---

Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the house, not a creature was stirring, except for the assassin behind the couch, who was checking and rechecking his weapons to make sure he was prepared. Soon, the enemy would attempt to infiltrate his home, and there were children who needed his protection. The Winter Soldier had enough bullets to take down this Santa Claus bastard if he even dared to let his jolly self down that chimney and into the house that he was protecting.

There came the faint jingling of bells, and he bolted to attention, alert, laying the barrel of his rifle between two couch cushions – a perfect blind spot – as he aimed at the fireplace.

\---

Earlier…

 

“I cannot believe,” Darcy said, arms crossed over her chest, “That they have a float.”

“I can’t believe I’m not on it.” Johnny said, his lower lip jutted out in an impressive pout.

The fact that Mary was sitting on his shoulders, giggling and clapping her hands whenever he grumbled, just seemed to make him look even more ridiculous.

“What are you, twelve?” Darcy asked, rolling her eyes. “No wait, don’t answer that. You are totally twelve.”

“I’m insulted,” he pouted even further. His lower lip trembled slightly. “That’s so mean, Darcy…”

“Oh god, do not give me that,” she groaned, rolling her head back onto her shoulders. “I thought I was babysitting six children, not seven…”

“Uncle Johnny’s a big kid,” Cherry said, tugging on her mother’s hand. She’d started  kindergarten this fall, and every since then, the kid had gotten way more sassy. Johnny would totally approve of little bundles of future getting sassy and snarky, except that Cherry really seemed to like turning her sass on him. Not cool.

Darcy snickered and hefted her daughter off of the sidewalk, thumping her down on her hip. “See? From the mouth of babes.”

“I think you trained her to say that.” Johnny said, suspiciously.

“The parade is starting!” Maggie squealed, bouncing beside them. Her hair was pulled into a single large ponytail puff, and her dark curls hurtled wildly around her head as she bounced.

“Daddy! Daddy!” Tony Junior jumped up from where he’d been crawling around on the ground. He struggled to stand on his tip toes, yanking at Johnny’s sleeve. “I’m not tall enough to seeeeee!”

“It hasn’t got here enough to see anything yet, kiddo,” Johnny ruffled his son’s still-feather-soft hair. He grinned when the boy barely seemed to notice, too absorbed in trying to see what was coming.

It wasn’t as though they didn’t have a fantastic vantage point for the parade, after all. It was the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade, and Tony Stark had decided that they should really go all out this year. All right, so the parade went all out every year, but his own kids were just now old enough to understand who Santa Claus was. Now, they knew why it actually mattered that Santa was in the parade.

And, as much as Tony liked to argue that magic wasn’t real, he was really intent on preserving (or even creating) the magic of Christmas for his twins. He was sort of… terrifying.

The mansion had been decorated. In November. There was a seven-foot tree in the living room. There was a tree in every single one of the children’s rooms, each decorated with things that Tony apparently thought that each child might like. And, in the foyer of the Avenger’s mansion, there was a massive, fifteen foot tall live tree that made Hulk look small.

After that, Tony had decided that the Avengers needed a float in the parade. He’d refused to tell anyone what, exactly, the plan was, and even Johnny hadn’t been able to worm any details out of his husband. Tony had just spent long, long hours working in his workshop, and when he’d said that someone had to stay with the kids, please, Johnny, please sit with the kids, they’re so excited, Johnny had sighed and agreed.

So the rest of the Avengers were on the float, Johnny the only exception. He sat, in a folded up camping chair, beside Darcy Coulson. (He didn’t think she got to be offended by not being invited to ride on the float, because she wasn’t an Avenger. Just sort of Avenger Adjacent.) There were little wooden barriers set up around their spot, so that no one else could swipe their seats, because Tony had thought it extremely important that the kids had a good spot to watch the parade. Two strollers were parked between their chairs, each a double seater. Mary and Junior had come in one, despite their loud protests that they were too old for the stroller, daddy! and Cherry – making no such protests – had ridden in the other with Robin. Robin still sat in the little front seat, clapping her chubby fingers already at the bright colours and twinkly lights, and Joseph and Maggie had their own fold up chairs – not that either of them was really staying in them, much.

“Daddy!” Mary squealed, wriggling on Johnny’s shoulders. “Spongebob!”

Johnny glared at the giant yellow monstrosity floating its way towards them, leering with its creepy, bulbous eyes. Fucking Spongebob, he thought. “Yes, sweetie, it’s Spongebob!” he agreed, trying to sound enthusiastic.

Darcy snickered, and when an excited Cherry clambered up into her lap, she lifted her head to peer over her daughter's fluffy brown hair. "Wow, Johnny, you could not sound less excited about Spongebob if you actually tried. Got a problem with who lives under the pineapple under the sea?"

"The kids love Spongebob." He said, through gritted teeth. "Of course I love Spongebob."

"How many times have you see the movie?" She asked, with a broad grin.

Johnny glowered at her. "I believe we're into the three hundreds."

She laughed. "Oh god, you're even beating Cherry's record."

"Four against one."

"Isn't that two against two?" Darcy asked, wincing just slightly when Cherry bounced in her lap.

"No, four against one. Junior, Mary, Tony, and Dummy. Against me." He glanced up at his daughter, and okay, maybe Spongebob really was the spawn of satan, but the delighted glow in his daughter's eyes sort of made it all worthwhile. Well. As long as that little delighted glow didn't become anything more, she wasn't wearing anything fireproof, and if she burned off her clothes... well, that was going to be awkward to be explaining to the cops.  "I'm the only voice of anti-Spongebob reason in my household."

"Daddy!" Mary protested, where she clung to his shoulders, "Spongebob is awesome."

"Yes, he sure is, sweetie, isn't he?" He chirped, then turned to mouth, to Darcy, "Save me."

She just laughed. Which wasn't really all that helpful.

But of course Spongebob was only the first in an array of oversized, inflatable versions of characters that the children were frighteningly excited to see floating over their heads. A few of them, Johnny recognized, more of them, he didn't. The kids seemed to recognize every single one of them, which made him wonder slightly where in the nine realms exactly they had gotten exposed to this stuff, but it made them really happy. Frankly, that mattered a hell of a lot more to him.

"Oh hey," Darcy pointed. "That must be the float, I think I see Steve."

"Cawptain America." Tony Junior said, pronouncing it carefully - then spun to grin up at Johnny. "Right, daddy?"

"Uh huh." He ruffled his son's hair. "Handsome lookin' devil, if I do say so myself."

"Yeah, cause he's practically identical to you." Darcy snorted.

"Handsome."

Maggie suddenly took a step back, hands on her hips. Her brows were furrowed deeply over her bright green eyes. "...that's not momma Steve."

"So what, that was the big twist?" Johnny joked. "Everyone dresses up in everyone else's uniforms?"

"No, that's - that's not momma Steve," she said, voice rising in octave, shaking her head. Her puff of a ponytail bobbed in opposition to her head shakes, swinging left when her head went right. "Joey..."

Her brother had already stood up off the sidewalk, looking wary.

There were a lot of things that Johnny didn't know about magic, and about those from Asgaard. But one thing he had noticed about Loki and his kids was that they seemed really good at reading a situation. So, he figured, if the young Rogersson and Lokidottir figured something was off, then maybe something was really fucking off.

“When did Natasha get her hair cut?” Darcy asked, frowning.

Okay, Johnny decided, that was absolutely not right. It wasn’t that Natasha didn’t change her hair, because she certainly did. Sometimes it was curly, sometimes it was straight, sometimes it was up, sometimes it was down… sometimes he completely forgot to even notice because he was being terribly distracted by something Tony was doing or saying, but he’d seen her half an hour ago. She’d been going for the float, he’d been going to grab the strollers, and she had laughed at him, and scooped up the Tupperware of goldfish crackers when he’d dropped it. Juggling too many things.

“Really, you need a nanny, Storm.” She had said, with a sarcastic quirk of her ruby-painted lips. “Or a donkey, to carry things for you.”

“Eh, I already got a jackass,” he had shrugged.

Natasha had laughed, tossed him the Tupperware, and headed for the floats. Her hair had been smooth and sleek and copper-bright, cut sharp off just above her shoulders.

Okay, so he noticed things like women’s hair. He had a thing for women with fantastic hair.

But the Natasha standing on the float, looking absolutely perfect in every other way, had her hair cut in a chin length bob.

Personally, Johnny wouldn’t exactly put it past Natasha to decide randomly to just cut her hair short with a knife while standing on the float, but dude, even the Black Widow couldn’t cut her own hair that precisely without a mirror.

“Right, that’s not them,” he agreed with the kids, and stood, his right hand curled on Mary’s ankle to keep her steady when he did. “So what the hell – “

It is one thing to be attacked by a group of imposters dressed like your best friends.

It is another thing entirely to be shot at by the imposter dressed like your goddamn husband.

“Hey!” Johnny flamed on before the arc reactor blast actually hit him in the chest. Tony’s arc reactors didn’t exactly tickle. He’d encountered them a few times before, battle could do that to you. Things got a little chaotic. But this, he barely felt. It was like a faint sting to the chest, which told him precisely that this was not Iron Man with the actual arc reactors firing at him, because he knew the difference. “Shit!”

“Daddy said a bad word!” Mary howled. She was still sitting on his shoulders, which would have terrified him if it was Junior, but he was pretty sure she’d flamed on herself only a moment after he had.

“Daddy shot daddy!” Her brother screamed in response.

In terms of priorities, Johnny was fairly sure that his son was a tiny bit more on point.

He was only distantly aware of the fact that Darcy had darted up from her own seat, jerking out her gun. Really, his priorities were on desperately trying to make sure that the kids were going to be out of the line of danger, because whether these guys were just cleverly dressed up imposters, or some kind of robotic experiment, or… whatever else, they were still clearly willing to use violence. If Johnny hadn’t flamed on, and had just gotten shot, what the hell would have happened to the little girl on his shoulders?

He jerked the stroller Robin still sat in back, melting the handle in the process. “Maggie!” He ordered, sharply. “Protect the little ones!”

“But I can help!” Maggie protested.

That didn’t stop her from darting over, though, standing in front of the stroller, in front of Robin, fists up.

The Iron Man wannabe fired at them again, a scattering of laser fire that scorched the pavement and stung at Johnny’s legs as he tried to step back out of the way. Lightning crackled from the fake Natasha’s spider-bites as she leapt off of the float, and fake Thor reeled his arms back, winging Mjolnir at them.

Joey caught the legendary hammer out of the air.

The second grader just held it aloft for a moment, lips parted in surprise, green eyes bright and stunned – then he sneered, and spat, “It’s fake,” before he flung the hammer aside.

Johnny supposed the kid would know. He seemed to like playing catch with the real thing, with his uncle Thor.

“So the Avengers aren’t trying to kill us, then.” Darcy said, sounding slightly breathless.

"Mommy..." Cherry keened, voice tremulous.

But even if they weren’t actually the Avengers, these imposters were still trying to kill them. And while maybe the fake Arc Reactor blasts didn’t really hurt Johnny, even a fake Captain America shield slamming him in the belly hurt like… well, a lot.

He was thrown back, hard enough that his back slammed into one of the wooden barriers that surrounded their spot on the sidewalk. The barriers broke, under the force of him slamming into them, and he hit the concrete, groaning in pain as the wood began to burn under him.

Johnny’s first instinct was to grab for Mary on his shoulders, to make sure she was all right, but she was already a step ahead of him. She had jumped off, and was flying above the sidewalk, and okay, he was really going to have to start insisting she wore more than just her fireproof underwear under her clothes when she went out in public.

“You hurt my daddy!” She shrieked, voice reaching octaves that seemed only partly human, and flew at the float – which had halted along with the rest of the parade sort of haphazardly on the street – and the fake Avengers that populated it.

“Mary, no!” Johnny shouted, pushing himself up off the ground.

And froze.

There was a fake him on the float.

He wasn’t sure how he hadn’t noticed, before, except that maybe he was more focused on the fact that there was a fake version of his husband, but there was a fucking fake Human Torch on the float, ands that phoney snagged his daughter right out of the air.

“Mary!” He roared, and hurtled towards the charlatan that was grappling his shrieking, flailing daughter.

Fake Iron Man slammed into his side, smashing him back to the concrete again. A familiar metal hand slammed his head down to the street’s surface, and a voice that was supposed to be Tony’s voice but fucking wasn’t said, sharply, “Keep down.”

“Fuck you,” he kicked at him, heating himself supernova.

They’d tested this once. Of course they’d tested it once, testing weird things was sort of Tony’s thing. He was worse than Reed that way, except that Johnny found he loved experiments with Tony far more than he had ever loved experimenting with Reed. They’d been in Tony’s lab, late at night, Dummy had been waiting with the fire extinguisher, and they had… danced. Johnny’s right hand in Tony’s left, the metal hand on the Iron Man suit heavy on his left hip, Tony had led them in a waltz to The Eagle’s Take it to the Limit. They hadn’t even been married, then, just in their stupid we’re-not-really-dating period, but it had still been stupid and fun. Tony laughing behind the mask, telling Johnny to ramp it up another hundred degrees, “C’mon, I just wanna see what I can take, stop grinning like that, firefly, c’mon, you can handle another hundred, right?” while JARVIS threatened that he wasn’t going to be able to keep the inside of the suit cool enough, “You are going to get cooked, Master Tony,” and Tony had just laughed and led them in surprisingly delicate dance steps for a man in a giant robotic suit. Until he had melted the metal hand on his hip, and Tony had been forced to dart back, still fucking laughing.

So he knew exactly how fucking hot he had to make himself to melt the Iron Man suit.

Johnny ramped his temperature up a few hundred degrees over that. Just to be on the safe side.

The pavement under him was melting, becoming an almost gelatinous black ooze under his fingers, but still the hand on his head seemed solid and stubborn.

“Just burn!” He said, through gritted teeth.

“I am no weak human,” that familiar voice snarled through a familiar voice modulator, and slammed his head down to the pavement again.

Johnny twisted, struggling to get himself free, and slammed his super-nova hand against the other’s mask. The metal might be stronger than the Iron Man suit, somehow, but there were still cameras on the front, there was still glass where the mask would be weaker – and he could feel it melting under his fingers, could hear the howl of the sham inside as his armour weakened, and began to melt at the edges of the eye-holes, where it was vulnerable now.

The hand on his head shifted, and Johnny kicked the man off.

There was a melted hand print in the distinctive Iron Man mask, and Johnny thought that was sort of awesome, actually. That didn’t seem to stop the faker, though, who was lunging for Johnny again when that helmeted head suddenly snapped backwards.

It was an odd sort of thing, Johnny thought, to see him stop, then fall backwards onto the pavement, green blood dribbling out of the hole he’d melted in the helmet.

“…holy shit.” Johnny breathed, but then he was scrambling to his feet. A fake him had his baby girl, god dammit!

He had to get his bearings. Things had changed in the brief period of time he’d been fighting off the husband that wasn’t his husband, and a fake Hawkeye had Darcy in a headlock. She was kicking back into the direction of his balls, which Johnny fully approved of, but what scared him a hell of a lot more was a fake Hulk carrying a stroller with a screaming Robin inside.

Johnny’s feet lifted off the warped, melted pavement, and he flew desperately towards the fake Hulk, flames streaming behind him.

Before he reached him, though, fake-Hulk suddenly staggered backwards, eyes wide and stunned as blood ran in a narrow line down from a bullet hole that had found its way to the space between his eyes.

The stroller slid out of his hands, dropping the maybe seven feet towards the pavement.

“Robin!” Someone shouted. Johnny didn’t want to go with cliché and find himself surprised that it was him screaming her name, so he was relieved that it was, in fact, not him screaming for the little girl and her safety. It was a kid’s voice, actually, he was pretty sure it was Maggie.

The stroller halted in mid air.

Only feet away, Junior stood with his hands outstretched towards the stroller, panting hard as he lowered his hands, the little pushed vehicle moving in tandem with his hands towards the street.  Johnny felt a bubble of relief and pride rising in his chest, proud of his little boy’s magic even if Tony hated that Loki was teaching their son to do things that were – in Tony’s mind, anyway – absofuckinglutely impossible. Junior would save her.

And then a presumably fake Wolverine scooped Johnny’s son up off the ground, and the stroller dropped the last half a foot. Robin started screaming again.

“Hands off, you motherfuck – “

Johnny never got to finish his insult, which was going to be extremely cutting, he could guarantee that. Instead, the fake Wolverine’s head snapped back, and he apparently got to join the expanding club of those-with-bullet-holes-in-the-head as he fell backwards. Junior was still in his arms when the bleeding-green-blood bastard hit the pavement, but the boy just scrambled out of his arms, and raced to Johnny. “Daddy, they got Mary, they got her, we gotta save her, we gotta get her, daddy, they got Mary – “

There was a whistle beside Johnny’s ear, close enough that he swore he’d just gotten grazed, then the fake Natasha that was reaching for his son let out a shout of anger, and reeled back, pressing a gloved hand to her bleeding shoulder.

He scooped his son up off of the ground, flames fading between the moment he reached and the moment he touched Junior, and backed up, quickly.

“You little bastard,” Fake-Black-Widow snarled, teeth bared. There was green blood in her mouth, startling against her teeth, but it didn’t seem to be slowing her down, because her spider-bites were still crackling as she reached for him. “Give me the child.”

“Fuck off,” he snapped back, then jumped slightly when there was another whistle, and she sort of reeled aside, collapsing to the street.

That time, he had heard the gun shot. Hadn’t, the other times, but certainly did this time. He reeled around, and realized that there was a good reason to have heard the gun shot this time, if the dark haired, black leather clad man marching towards them with a rifle braced against his shoulder was any indication.

“Who’s that, daddy?” Tony Junior asked, breathlessly, clutching tightly to the back of Johnny’s neck.

Twinkly lights from the decorations around them glittered off of the man’s silver arm as he lifted the gun and shot the fake Thor off the top of another float shaped like a house on Sesame Street.

Johnny swallowed. “…Bucky Barnes.”

“Is he a nice man, daddy?” Junior asked, snuffling slightly.

He figured it was probably better to just not answer that question. Not yet.

Not when the Winter Fucking Soldier was throwing his rifle to the side, letting it hang across his back with the thick strap across his chest, so that he could tug a knife out of the holster on his belt, and driving it into the temple of the fake Hawkeye.

“Daddy!”

“Mary,” Johnny breathed, and darted forward, trying to run as fast as he could with his son still clinging to his shoulders, but maybe he shouldn’t have worried.

Rounding a float shaped like the most monstrously sized turkey in human imagining, he could see that Maggie had her hands interlaced with Mary’s, and she was trying to tug the girl out of the arms of a handsome devil of a faker. The not-actually-flaming fake Human Torch looked furious as he tried to tug her back, and little Mary had steam on her cheeks from the attempted tears.

“Mary!” Junior howled, now struggling to get out of Johnny’s arms, green sparks flaring around his chubby fingers.

But then a metal arm snaked around the fake Johnny’ neck, jerking him back, and Mary tumbled forward into Maggie’s arms as the Winter Soldier slammed his knife into the imposter’s chest.

 

\---

 

The Avengers float slowed, and glided to a halt.

This was probably due to the fact that JARVIS was in fact the one in control of the piloting of the float, because the others around them seemed to have less luck with this. Ahead of them, the Elf on the Shelf waved awkwardly in the air, sort of thumping into the back end of a Hello Kitty head. Behind them, there was the screeching of brakes, and the float after them in the queue thumped fairly lightly into the back of theirs.

“Fucking tailgaters,” Logan grumbled, and flipped off the Monster High chicks.

“Oh come on,” Tony grumbled, waving his arms. “Why are we stopping?! I want the kids to see the float! It’s awesome!”

Even Logan had to admit that Tony wasn’t entirely wrong. The float was kind of awesome. It was shaped like the Avengers Tower that used to be the Stark Tower. They didn’t really hang out there, like, ever, but technically it was part of their repertoire of buildings, and it was a perfect scaled replica, large enough that Thor was standing on top of it. Besides that, Tony had also worked out some kind of elaborate hologram system, and each of the worlds in the Nine Realms was floating around them, responsive to their interactions with it. As Asgaard drifted a little closer, Logan poked it, and watched it drift off again.

“Something must have happened,” Natasha said, and shrugged.

“Yeah,” Clint called, from his perch on top of the scale model of the Empire State Building. “It’s probably nothing. We’ll start movin’ when it’s done.”

The Hulk pouted slightly. “…Hulk smash?”

“Nothing to smash, big guy,” Tony said, and patted his arm.

Big and green just pouted.

Logan sighed, letting his head thump back against the Tower, just watching the worlds pass him by. There wasn’t really anything else they could do, way he saw it, other than to just sit, and wait. Eventually, the parade would start moving again – mostly because some PR person would freak the fuck out about it having stopped – and then they’d be moving again. He was just looking over to it being done with, so that he could get back to his apartment, grab a beer, put Robin down for a nap, then maybe see what he could do about getting Clint naked. Maybe in the shower. Ooh yeah, that was a good idea, get him in the shower, get him all wet and soapy, pin him against the tiled wall –

He bolted up.

Natasha’s sharp eyes glanced at him. “What is it?”

“Gun shots,” Logan grunted, and swung himself off of the float, boots thumping against the street as he ran towards the direction of the gunfire.

There was the sound of others hurrying behind him, but when he had to push his way through throngs of civilians rushing to get the other direction, he knew that something was definitely wrong. There were a lot of reasons there could be gunshots, Logan figured. Terrorism came first to mind, the parade was certainly large enough that some asshole with a gun could be trying to make a point. Could be cops, they had always been a little gun happy for his tastes. There were a lot of other options, but villainy sort of pushed at him, worrying him, and somewhere out there, among the crowd, there were a bunch of kids that were targets just because of who their parents were, and wouldn’t be able to protect themselves like their parents could.

It was those children that had him running.

Logan burst around the corner of a float that looked oddly familiar, like he ought to recognize what was on it, for some reason. He rounded the corner just in time to see a man, with long, scraggly hair and a left arm that looked like it was made entirely of metal, bend to scoop Logan’s daughter out of the broken and twisted remains of a stroller.

Anger bubbled up in his throat, letting itself out as a violent snarl, and Logan barked, “Hey!”

The man’s head snapped up, and his dark eyes narrowed at Logan. He watched as Logan approached, quickly, then answered him, finally. “She is unharmed.”

“Yeah, I’ll judge that for myself,” he snapped, reaching for Robin.

The stranger handed her over, quietly.

Snatching his daughter to his chest, Logan looked down at her, furious. Who the hell was this guy, what the hell did he know, anyway…

Of course, Robin was just fine. She gurgled up at him, chewing on her fingers. There were dried tears on her cheeks, and he could smell the lingering, faint scent of fear on her, but it hadn’t been caused by metal-arm-asshole. That he knew, this was older, though maybe only by moments.

“Da?” She asked, patting his cheek with saliva wet fingers. “Da?”

“You’re okay, princess,” he murmured, kissing her forehead, and shifting her in his arms so that she was resting on his hip.

“Told you she was unharmed,” the man said, calmly. He looked unbothered by the fact that Logan hadn’t trusted his opinion on it, even though he was defending himself.

Logan considered him. Metal arm, polished to a keen shine, though the red star painted on the bicep of it was scuffed and scratched, like someone had tried to just scratch it off with their fingernails. Black clothing, flak vest, hair that hadn’t been washed in days, possibly longer, jaw that hadn’t been shaved in at least days, knives on his belt, rifle slung across his back.

“Who,” Logan snarled, “The hell are you?”

“…Bucky?”

He didn’t even have to look behind him to know that it was Steve that had asked. Steve had a breathless quality to his voice when he was shocked, and if his voice was any more breathless, Logan would probably be asking the Cap if he was even breathing.

The stranger didn’t answer, but he didn’t argue, either.

“Oh my… Bucky…” Steve approached him, slowly. Warily. “What are you doing here? Do you – do you remember…?”

Bucky tilted his head to the side slightly, considering him, then answered, “They were trying to take your children.”

“Who were - ?” Steve started, then stopped, glancing to the left.

Logan had already seen them, could smell the lingering crush of death already, even fresh. Green Skrull bodies sprawled on the pavement, dressed in familiar uniforms. Trying to pretend to be Avengers.

Clint jogged up beside Logan, and he gladly handed their daughter over to him. “What the hell is going on?” Clint hissed.

“Metal arm killed Skrulls that were trying to take the kids,” he explained, simply.

Bouncing Robin, Clint blinked. “…shit. So… how did metal arm dude know that they were our kids? Exactly?”

“A good question,” Thor agreed, as he stepped up beside them. Joey was sitting on his shoulders, holding Mjolnir – the real one, this time – as the god approached them.

They all turned to look at Bucky, expectantly.

Bucky, however, wasn’t looking at the Avengers. He was looking down, at Maggie, who was offering Bucky a knife that she had gotten from who knows where. “This is yours,” she said.

“Maggie!” Steve gasped, taking a half step towards his daughter, expression torn. One was his best friend from his childhood, one was his daughter, he was supposed to have faith in one, and protect the other, but either was entirely capable of probably making this situation colossally disastrous.

Bucky took the dark metal knife, and nodded before he tucked it into one of the holsters on his belt.

Maggie grinned. “You should come to our house for cookies.”

He tilted his head to the side, considering her. “…okay.”

 

\---

 

Bucky Barnes, the Winter Soldier, sat on the centre of the couch in the living room, holding a coffee mug with both metal and flesh hands. There was a plate of cookies on the coffee table in front of him, and sitting on the floor around the table were a variety of children that were debating which cookies, exactly, Bucky should try first.

(Cherry said he should be eating Oreos, because they were the best kind ever. Mary and Junior both were sticking with gingerbread, because it was Christmas time, they said, and those were the most important cookies. Maggie suggested chocolate chip, because they were traditional. Joey insisted that sugar cookies were superior, because the little edible silver balls on top matched Bucky’s arm. Robin was just sitting there eating Arrowroots. So her opinion probably didn’t count for much, especially since she would only eat about half of each cookie, smearing wet cookie crumb remains across her chubby cheeks, then would tire of that one, drop it haphazardly in the carpet, and grab another with grubby fingers off the tray. Behind her, Dummy kept fumbling to pick up peanut butter cookies, and thrusting them at Bucky hopefully.)

And just outside of the living room, sort of gathered around the doorway like they were crowded around a zoo exhibit, were the Avengers.

“What the hell,” Tony hissed, trying to keep his voice low, “Is the motherfucking Winter Soldier doing in my living room?!”

“Having a tea party,” Jan said, brightly.

It probably sounded like sarcasm, but considering the liquid in the mug that Bucky was holding was tea because Mary had insisted that we are having tea and cookies, daddy, it sounded less ridiculous than it might have, otherwise.

“He’s here,” Steve said, voice slightly breathy and awed, again. “Bucky is… he’s here, and he’s alive, and he’s okay, and he’s not… he’s not killing anyone, or anything!”

“Well,” Clint huffed. “While I totally approve of him not killing anyone, I’m a little freaked out that he’s here and he’s… drinking tea on our couch. Wasn’t he sort of intent on murdering you in every possible way a couple months ago?”

Steve hesitated, clearing his throat. “Yes.”

“So… we’re just buddies with him, now?” The archer waved at the room.

“He was my best friend,” Steve murmured, and the look in his eyes said that he was seeing a lot more than a man that had tried to kill him sitting in that room with their children. Perhaps he was remembering even more than he was seeing. “Bucky Barnes saved my life more times than I can count. When we were kids, he used to make the blackest coffee for me when I had my asthma attacks. And if I wouldn’t drink it, he’d just… make me drink it.” He laughed, softly. “He used to carry an extra Adrenaline with him, for me, in case I forgot mine. When I got in fights, he backed me up. Punched more than a few guys that I probably could have handled myself. He was the only one I had, when I lost my parents.”

Steve shifted slightly, eyes still faraway. “I almost lost him. Few times. He’s here.”

They were silent for a long few moments, then Jan poked the Captain in his still uniformed side. “You do know you’re married, right?”

He laughed, softly, the reminiscent spell apparently over, and he looked down at her. “It’s not like that, Jan.”

She pursed her lips. “…you’re sure?”

“Very sure,” he smiled, and took a deep breath. “He doesn’t know who I am, though.”

“No, see, you know, that’s bull shit.” Tony pointed at him. He was still dressed as Iron Man, but at least he’d retracted the mask. “Cause I read the case files that Natasha dumped on the internet and everything, and part of that was intel. You should have been dead, falling out of that thing, super soldier or not a super soldier.”

Steve hesitated. “Well. I think Bucky saved me, but… he still doesn’t remember me.”

“So maybe he’s forgotten that he’s supposed to kill you.” Clint considered that. “Dude, amnesiac assassins? That seems like a corporate liability. HYDRA really should have reconsidered that.”

“They were wiping his memory.” Natasha murmured.

Bruce glanced at her, surprised. “How do you know that?”

She pursed her lips, and just shook her head.

Tony narrowed his eyes at her. “…is this the same type of memory wiping that was listed in your files that you dumped on the internet? Cause they mentioned memory wiping there…”

Natasha gave him a sharp look, crossing her arms over her chest, and apparently electing to completely ignore him.

The door at the end of the hallway opened, and Sam Wilson jogged up towards them. He hadn’t been invited to join them on the parade, even though some of the Avengers were insisting that he ought to be one of them (mostly, this was Steve) but someone (Pepper) had given him an Avengers communication ID, anyway. “Hey,” he said, nearing them. “I got the 911, what’s going – oh holy shit, that’s the Winter Soldier.”

“No,” Steve said, quickly. “That’s Bucky.”

Sam’s jaw lifted as he drew in a long breath, then he let that same breath out in a puff of air, and ran the palm of his hand over his head. “…right. Guess I wasn’t called in for my stunning good looks and my quick wit, then.”

“Not this time.” Steve said, licking his lips. “Can you talk to him?”

“Yeah, sure.” He nodded, hooking his thumbs in his pockets. “I can do that.”

 

\---

 

“Hey, Bucky.”

Bucky looked up from the tray of cookies that the children had stopped arguing over, and had started piling cookies in towers on. Occasionally, they would eat one, but mostly, they were making towers and offering Bucky a variety of cookies. He would take them, obediently, and eat each in turn. He liked when Joey insistently thrust Oreos at him, best.

Sam stood there, thumbs in his pockets. Muscular arms, could be a threat. But was keeping his hands still, as though trying to suggest he wasn’t a threat. Could remove his hands from their encumbrance easily enough, but it would take him precious seconds.

He considered the man for a moment, then silently offered him an Oreo.

A grin quirked up the corner of Sam’s mouth, and he reached out to take the cookie. “Thanks. You remember me, Bucky?”

Bucky narrowed his eyes, trying to place the face. Nothing about him seemed even vaguely familiar, so he just shook his head. He’d learned a long time ago to only lie when it was required for a mission. He wasn’t on a mission at the moment, so lying would be punished fiercely.

Sam hesitated, then nodded, and settled on the couch beside him. “All right. That’s all right… I’m not that memorable of a guy, anyway. My name’s Sam. Sam Wilson.”

“He’s Unca Sam.” Mary said, from her spot on the floor. “Like the guy in the hat that points at you. Only he’s nicer.”

“Uncle Sam.” Bucky repeated.

“Well, you don’t have to call me Uncle Sam,” Sam laughed, holding up his hands, still holding his cookie. “I mean, you can, if you want to. I don’t mind. But you don’t have to call me Uncle Sam.”

Bucky nodded, still holding his mug, quietly.

“So, Bucky, right?”

He nodded, again, considering Uncle Sam.

“What’s going on, Bucky?” Sam asked. His voice was gentle. It didn’t pry, like his handlers did, when they were trying to work things out of him that he didn’t know how to put into words, it just seemed to curl itself around him. Comforting. “You on a mission?”

Bucky stilled for a moment, looking down into his mug, then shook his head. “Mission is over.”

“Oh yeah?” Sam took a bite of his Oreo, then asked, “What was yer mission?”

He frowned, and glanced up at the other man.

“You can tell me.” Sam assured him, then grinned. “I’m Uncle Sam, remember? Tell me your mission parameters.”

Bucky let out a soft breath, and looked down at the children milling around him, at the table. “Was watching. Previous mission ended in…” His brows furrowed. He felt, like an inkling, that he had failed at his last mission had ended in failure, but all he could remember about his last mission was a feeling of pain, and I knew him and end of the line. “Ended. Was not given new mission parameters. Watched Captain America. Gathered intel on group of imposters that wanted to capture children. No one was aware. No one was protecting the children. Children needed protecting. Forced new mission parameters. Protect children from threat.”

Sam watched him for a long moment, as though he doubted the answer, then nodded.

Bucky felt his shoulders slump in relief.

“All right, so your mission was to protect the children.” Sam nodded. “Pretty good mission. You put yourself on that mission?”

His brows furrowed. “…yes.”

“So you can set yourself on your own mission parameters?” He grinned at him. “That’s good. Where you staying at, Bucky?”

Bucky frowned. “Staying?”

“Yeah… where’s your base?”

“No base. Travelling. Following Captain America.”

“Captain America is my momma Steve,” Joey spoke up, and flopped his whole body on the coffee table. Kicking his feet at the air, he thrust another Oreo at Bucky. “How come you got a star on your arm?”

Bucky’s brows furrowed, and he reached up with his flesh hand, almost idly scratching at the star. “Winter Soldier.”

“Did that guy stick a star on you?” Joey’s eyes widened, in awe. “It looks like the top of a Christmas tree.”

Sam smirked slightly, and reached out to ruffle Joey’s hair. “Does kinda look like a Christmas tree, doesn’t it? We should put lights on him.”

“Christmas tree?” Bucky asked, shaking his head. “What’s Christmas?”

 

\---

 

“Christmas is God’s birthday!”

“It’s when we get presents!”

“Daddy puts a plant on the doors and he kisses daddy all the time. But he kisses daddy all the time n-e-ways. But now he kisses him in doorways.”

“JARVIS plays us happy songs.”

“There are trees in all the rooms!”

“Presents!”

It was sort of adorable, Steve thought, standing in the doorway, watching the children explain what exactly Christmas was to Bucky. He worried, on some level, how little his old friend seemed to remember about anything. God, when they were kids, Christmas wasn’t anything like it was now, but he and Bucky still used to light candles and scrounge up their pennies to buy each other oranges. He didn’t know what Bucky remembered and what he didn’t, but he wasn’t sure that not remembering Christmas actually boded all that well.

He just wished he could curl his old friend up in a big old blanket like the quilt his mother used to keep on her bed, and give him back all the good things from when they were young. Before the war. Before all the bad things happened.

Sam didn’t think Bucky was a threat. Thought that the Winter Soldier was sure as shit going to be a threat, if he ever ended up reappearing, but at the moment, struggling to understand things in context of mission parameters, he wasn’t a threat. After all, he’d somehow twisted a mission to kill Steve into a self-imposed task to save the Avenger’s children from anything that threatened them.

But Bucky seemed to absorb anything that was given him, like the children’s explanations about Christmas were as important as a brief from the President.

He took a deep breath, and shook his head. He needed to talk to Loki, about this. Yes, thank you Jan, he knew that he was married, it really wasn’t like that, but Bucky had once been the most important person in his life. Loki was the most important in his life now, with the possible exception of their children.

Pushing off the wall, he left them there. JARVIS would call if Sam had been wrong. But he had faith.

“And, and, and,” Joey said, eagerly, sort of bouncing on the edge of the couch. “Christmas is when Santa comes!”

Bucky narrowed his eyes at him. “…who is ‘Santa’?”

 

\---

 

“Darling,” Steve said, earnestly, seriously. He looked terribly intense. “Remember, a few months back, when there was that mess with HYDRA and project Insight, and there were people trying to kill me, and… everything?”

“And you were nearly killed?” Loki’s eyes narrowed. “Yes. I remember.”

He cleared his throat. “Yeah. That time. Well, remember how I told you about Bucky, and how he’d been my friend when I was younger, and that he fought along with me, and – “

“And he was treated with a Nazi version of your serum, experimented on, and became the Winter Soldier. Yes.” His husband smiled faintly, almost indulgently. “Yes. I was quite aware of that. I actually did research on this friend of yours. Last I heard, he wanted to kill you.”

Steve shifted, awkwardly. “Well, I don’t think he’s currently trying to kill me?”

“As he just saved our children, I am inclined to agree.” Loki said, frowning slightly. “No, I’m not sure that he is currently attempting to kill you. Shall I assume that this is the moment in which you give me those adorable puppy dog eyes of yours, and tell me that we’re keeping him?”

“He’s not a dog, Loki.” He pouted.

“No, I’m aware. He is an assassin trained to kill you, whose last known mission was to kill you.  He barely remembers who he is at any given moment. He is far more dangerous.” Loki said. He hesitated, then continued “However, Maggie adores him, and he carried Joseph on his shoulders, which he greatly enjoyed. I suppose we can keep him.”

“Not a dog.” Steve reminded him.

“Still aware,” Loki smirked.

 

\---

 

“JARVIS can tell you anything,” Maggie had said, seriously. “Just ask him. He’ll tell you anything.”

Bucky frowned, sitting on the too-soft bed in the room that Steve had said was his. It seemed strange. Large, with more chairs than he would need to sit in, presuming he was here alone. There was a bathroom down the hall, Steve had said, and pointed down the hall towards the door. The bed was larger than any one person would need, and the windows were too large to be properly defensible. All they had protecting them were light curtains that didn’t even keep the light out properly.

The door didn’t even lock properly. Well, it locked, but not well, because he had broken that lock within about fifteen seconds. It now had one of the too many chairs nudged under the doorknob, to keep it secure. He didn’t need to sit at a desk, anyway.

“JARVIS?” He called, finally. Maggie had just said to ask.

“Yes, Master Barnes?”

Bucky jumped, fingers gripping too tight in the duvet on the top of the bed.

“Please do not be alarmed,” the disembodied voice said, quickly. It was a soothing voice, one that spoke of care. “I did not wish to surprise you. It is simply that I do not have a physical body, and as such, I am capable of being everywhere. Would it be more comforting to you if I provided you with something to speak to? I can create a hologram, if you would prefer to speak to a person. Or I could simply light up my access panel, if you would prefer?”

He swallowed, licking his lips. What would be the proper response to that question?

There was a black panel on the wall, beside the door he had come in through, and slowly, a blue glow started in the centre of it. It glowed, non-threateningly, and pulsed slightly in time with JARVIS’ voice when the computer continued. “Is this acceptable?”

Bucky let out a long breath. “Yes.”

“I am glad,” JARVIS said.

He narrowed his eyes, frowning. “You are a computer program.”

“Yes,” JARVIS agreed, sounding somewhat cheerful about that. As though he were not ashamed of the fact that he was a computer program, and not someone made of living flesh and blood. “I am. Just A Very Intelligent System. Tony constructed me as a companion, assistant, and guide. How may I be of service to you, Master Barnes?”

“How are you glad?”

“How am I glad?” JARVIS sounded… surprised by that question, and the blue light shone a bit brighter. “Ah, you mean, how am I glad that you find my form acceptable if I am just a computer program? I am an artificial intelligence. I have emotions, even if they are technically constructed. Do you not feel emotions?”

Bucky considered that, frowning slightly.

“Perhaps that was the wrong way to phrase the question.” JARVIS apologized, light dimming slightly. “Do you feel, at times, that you are safe, and can rest?”

“There is nothing safe.”

“But you can sleep, correct?”

Bucky frowned. “At times.”

“And then, do you feel warm, feel like it is unnecessary to move into action at that time?”

He considered that, seriously, then nodded at the blue light. “Yes.”

JARVIS sounded like he was smiling. “Then you, too, are sometimes glad. You can consider yourself safe here, Master Barnes. The additional security on the door was not necessary, I can assure you that none here are threats to you.”

“They are warriors.” Bucky answered him, immediately.

“They are threats.” JARVIS agreed. “But not to you. They deem you an ally, and therefore, you are safe. You can be glad here.”

Bucky sat in silence for a long few moments, then frowned at the blue light. “Uncle Sam did not give a mission. Captain America did not give a mission. Do you have the current mission?”

“I am afraid I have no mission,” JARVIS apologized. “Beyond making sure that you are glad, here. However, if you have any other questions for me, I can provide any answers I can manage to find for you. Perhaps your mission lies in what answers I have to your questions. Do you have any questions for me, Master Barnes?”

“Yes.” He shifted on the bed. “Who is Santa Claus?”

 

\---

 

Santa Claus. Father Christmas. Sinterklaas. Kris Kringle. Saint Nicholas.

JARVIS pulled up a video screen on the wall, and played him snippets. Tried to give him as broad of an overview as he could manage, perhaps.

“-you better watch out, you better not pout, you better not cry, I’m telling you why. Santa Claus is coming to town-”

Bucky’s eyes narrowed, barely even open.

“-and then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof, the prancing and pawing of each little hoof. As I drew in my head and was turning around, down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a bound-”

He shifted on the bed, fingers itching as though he was trying to rest his hands on a rifle, but there was no rifle in his lap. Tony had made some overtures that they didn’t keep weapons in the house, even though he knew that Tony retained his arc reactor, and Thor had been casually swinging Mjolnir at his side as they walked. In either case, his gun was sitting in the basement, below the house, in a rack with several other weapons.

“-oh what a laugh it would have been, if daddy had only seen, mommy kissing Santa Claus last night-”

Bucky surged up from his seat on the bed, and marched towards the screen. Tapping the blue light beside the door, he demanded, firmly, “Santa Claus. Show him on the screen.”

 

\---

 

“My children love him more than me.”

Johnny lifted his head off of his hand, blinking at his husband. “…what?”

“My children love him more than me,” Tony repeated, huffing as he leaned on the kitchen counter, arms crossed over his chest.

“Our children love who more than you, exactly?” He demanded, sipping at his coffee. This conversation was going to take a lot more caffeine. Clearly.

“Bucky Barnes!” Tony flailed his hands, displeased. “Our children love him more than me! Probably more than you!”

Johnny took a deep breath. “…what.”

“Did they crawl in our bed this morning?” Tony demanded.

“No… and thank god they didn’t, because you were fucking me against the headboard.” Johnny arched a brow. “So… I am infinitely grateful that they didn’t, but okay, I’ll bite. Why is this a bad thing?”

“Because they were sitting outside Bucky Barnes’ bedroom door, waiting for him to come out.” Tony said, glowering.

Johnny blinked at him. “…really?”

“Yes. Really.”

“Hm.” He considered that for a moment, then sipped at his coffee again. “Awesome. It’s about time they let us have some privacy.”

Tony glowered at him. “And when they came home from school today, they didn’t come to us, they didn’t come to the lab to find out what we were doing, did they?!”

“…we were wrapping presents.” Johnny pointed out. “We didn’t want them to come in.”

“You are – they love him more than us!”

“Oh my god.” He bolted up in his seat, gaping at Tony. “This is your midlife crisis.”

“What?!” Tony yelped. “It is not!”

“No,” Johnny hesitated, leaning back again. “No, it’s not, because your midlife crisis was having the kids, in the first place. Okay. Seriously. Oh. Oh shit. This is why you’re so excited for Christmas… because you’re trying to give the kids what you didn’t get. So if they love someone else more than they love you… oh my god, I’m married to a man with daddy issues.”

“Okay, that’s it, I’m divorcing you.” Tony grumbled, glowering at him.

 

\---

 

Steve looked hopeful, as he cleared his throat, and motioned to Bucky, where he sat on the couch in the living room. “Hey, Logan… this is Bucky.”

Bucky looked up from the StarkPad he’d been reading on. He’d discovered it shortly after arriving in the Mansion, and seemed to like it. Steve had seen him reading novels, flicking through Wikipedia, sometimes sprawled on the couch with the kids, watching Adventure Time or Sailor Moon or cat videos or whatever it was the kids felt like watching that day. Bucky seemed to live to absorb new things, and he wasn’t sure that his old friend actually retained much of it, but he’d seen him smirking at Tony’s jokes, so he must have caught onto some of it.

Though he did notice that Bucky had looked rather displeased to discover that he could only use one hand on the StarkPad, the metal one simply didn’t allow him to actually navigate.

(Tony had made overtures to creating a touch screen that only worked with metal limbs, but Steve didn’t know exactly how far he’d gotten with that. Or how serious he’d really been about it, since Bucky was making pretty good progress with his flesh-and-bone hand.)

Bucky considered Logan for a moment, then nodded.

“Hey,” Logan said, lifting his beer bottle in a rough sort of greeting. “Name’s Logan.”

“Bucky.” He said, voice as calm and even as Logan’s had been.

Steve looked back and forth between the two of them, hopefully. They knew each other. They’d served alongside each other in the Howling Commandos, Steve could remember a sketch he’d made a lifetime ago, the pair of them in the corner of a cramped bunker, heads together as they played poker for crumpled Reichmarks. They had been friends, a couple of lifetimes ago, but neither of them could remember the other, and he just wanted them to remember each other. Seeing each other would spark their memories of each other. Right?

“So, ah…” he said, hopefully. “Bucky looks sort of… familiar. Right Logan?”

Logan gave him an odd look, taking a swig of his beer. “Yeah. From the Smithsonian, when you helped me get my uniform? So?”

Steve’s shoulders drooped a little, but then he perked up. Well, Logan’s memory was known to be problematic, guy seemed to remember nothing except nightmares, and even then. But Bucky seemed to get some information, sometimes, especially if he was given enough repeated stimulus.

“Bucky?” He asked, motioning to Logan. “Kinda familiar, right?”

Logan gave him another odd look.

Like why the hell Steve thought that either of them ought to remember each other.

Bucky considered Logan for a long moment, as though really trying to see whatever it was that Steve thought he should see, then shrugged one shoulder, and looked back down at his StarkPad again. A clear dismissal.

“…oh.” Steve murmured, quietly. “Well… I think you two have a lot in common. So you should… maybe talk. Things in common are good.”

“Right.” Logan arched a brow.

He sighed, and waved at them awkwardly before heading towards the kitchen.

The two men left behind were silent for a long while, before Logan shook his head, and settled on the other end of the couch. “He always doin’ that shit to you? Tryin’ to get you remember things?”

Bucky glanced up from his StarkPad, frowning slightly, then nodded. “Regularly.”

“Yeah.” He shook his head. “Me too. Apparently we served in the war, not that I remember. Seein’ as how yer apparently the Bucky Barnes that he wistfully talks about when he thinks no one will notice… guess I musta served with you, too.”

Setting the tablet down, he considered Logan for a long moment. “You’re not familiar.”

He shrugged one shoulder, and took a swig of his beer. “You ain’t, either.”

“Hn.” Bucky frowned, brows furrowed. “…experiment?”

“No idea.” Logan swirled the beer around in his bottle, watching the bubbles swirl up against the insides of the dark amber bottle. “Probably. I remember… bits. I was definitely experimented on. They encased my whole skeleton in metal. But I don’t know if that’s why I don’t remember.”

He scowled slightly. “HYDRA?”

Logan just shrugged.

“Hn.” Bucky nodded, the metal of his fingers drumming lightly on the back of the tablet as he held it. “Christmas."

“What about it?” He glanced at him, surprised by the change in conversation.

It had been one of those topics that everyone seemed to step up to, when they ran out of things to say. Bucky had noticed it happening regularly, if they couldn’t think of what to say next, the other would awkwardly ask, “You ready for Christmas yet?”

So he cleared his throat. “You ready for Christmas, yet?”

Logan blinked at him. “Yeah, probably. Far as I know… I ain’t exactly doin’ a whole lot for it.”

Bucky narrowed his eyes at him. “What preparations have you made?”

He hesitated, tilting his head to the side slightly. “Preparations?”

Bucky nodded, expression and eyes dark. “You’re not going to let some stranger come into your house with your kid, right? You’ve gotta be ready to stop this. Don’t buy into the hype, this Kringle guy only wants to get into houses with little kids-- that ain’t right. What measures have you taken to stop him?”

“Huh.” Logan said, after a moment. “I don’t have a fireplace, so I haven’t really… y’know. Thought about it yet.”

“There are some spare bear traps in the basement, if you need ‘em.”

“Right.” Logan nodded. “Good idea.”

\---

“So, someone needs to explain to Bucky about Santa Claus.”

Tony looked up slowly from his drafting table, and blinked at Logan. How had he even gotten in here? He’d thought he’d told JARVIS to keep everyone out while he was working on Christmas presents. “…what?” His eyes drifted back downwards. Maybe if he took out the coffee maker...

“Bucky Barnes.” Logan had his arms crossed over his broad, plaid covered chest, and Tony wondered, not for the first time, if he was actually wider than he was tall. “Doesn’t know about Santa Claus.”

Tony was about to retort with some smart ass comment, but then he hesitated. “I don’t get it.”

“No. Really.” Logan nodded. “He thinks Santa is breaking into the house on Christmas, and might be planning on leaving bear traps for him.”

“Oh.” Tony breathed. “Okay, yeah, that’s... we’ll figure something out. Where’s Steve? Steve is probably the best person to do this.”

 

\---

“And what do you do if Santa tries to take you away?” Bucky asked.

“Kick him in the knee and punch him between the legs,” Cherry replied firmly. She used her dolly to demonstrate.

“Good.” he turned to Mary, who was sitting cross-legged on the floor next to him. “What do you do if Santa comes into your bedroom?”

“Scream super, super, super loud and bite him,” Mary answered proudly.

“That’s right!” He nodded at them. “Maggie, do you know what to do if Santa gets through the security protocols and deactivates JARVIS?”

“Mr. Barnes, I’m sure this is not necessary--” JARVIS said, but Bucky ignored him.

“Head to the panic room with the little kids and call for backup,” Maggie said. She was holding the plush Santa, and seemed mostly interested in making explosion noises and sending the doll spiralling away, screaming, after the other girls used their dolls to attack it. Bucky approved.

\---

“Can’t you just like… magic his memories back?” Clint demanded. “This morning, he couldn’t remember who I was. Or who he was. He was sitting on the couch, staring at his shoes, trying to figure out how to tie them. Guy can tie shoes, I’ve seen him do it before. It’s kinda… really sad.”

Loki shook his head, slightly. “That would be an intensely bad idea.”

“Why would that be a bad idea?” Tony blinked. “That sounds like a fantastic idea. Fix him. I mean, he wouldn’t keep trying to kill people anymore, he’d probably calm the hell down… I mean, he’d remember who he was.”

“The Midgardian mind is rather resilient.” Loki said, spreading his long fingered hands broadly. “Your minds have clever little ways of protecting themselves. Some will hide painful experiences and memories from themselves, until the mind is able to cope with the pain.  It is best to recover them… slowly, if at all. To keep a fragile mind from remembering terrible things faster than they can handle it. You heard your doctor, before: Banner said that with the ceasing of their meddling with his memories several months ago, his mind ought to have had time to recover at least enough to piece bits of it together. To my mind, the fact that he does not remember speaks to his mind keeping him safe. It would be pure torture, worse than anything those scientists did to him, to reintroduce him to everything he has ever learned all at once.”

“But he can’t tie his shoes.” Clint reminded him.

“At times,” Loki conceded.

\---

“You need to stop telling the kids that Santa is going to take them away,” Tony told Bucky. “I caught Junior packing a bag this morning.”

“He needs to be ready,” Bucky countered.

“Santa Claus is not a kidnapper!”

“Oh yeah? What about all those greaseball fake santas at the mall?” Bucky asked. He was clutching his coffee mug in his metal hand, and cracks were beginning to spiderweb on the ceramic surface. “One of them tried to kill you!”

“In the greaseball fake Santa’s defense,” Tony said, because of course that incident had made national news and of course it was coming to bite him in the ass now-- “I am really good at inspiring homicidal rage in others.”

Bucky narrowed his eyes. The mug in his hand creaked ominously.

“And besides, the real santa is not a kidnapper,” Tony said.

Bucky considered this. “The real Santa.” He repeated.

Tony sighed. “Y’know, magical saint Nicholas, who flies in on his reindeer sleigh and leaves presents for all the good little kiddies? That Santa isn’t going to hurt anyone.”

“But the Mall Santa--”

“Remember when we told Maggie about Santa’s Helpers?” Tony asked desperately. Maggie, as the oldest of the kids, was the only one who seemed suspicious that there were so many men with white beards shouting ho ho ho around. She’d accepted the usual “Santa’s Helpers” theory, satisfied that the “real” santa was so busy at the North Pole that he hired out his public appearances to good-natured Santa Doubles who passed messages from the kids back to the north pole.

“Don’t… like the helpers,” Bucky said.

“Put the mug down before it breaks,” Tony said, vowing to get some indestructible tableware once the holiday season died off. He’d lost sixteen coffee mugs in four days. He tried to feel good about the fact that Bucky knew whether he liked or didn’t like something, but what a terrible thing to pick. Santa Claus was sacred.

“They are lying about something,” Bucky continued. “They’re too cheerful, and they blink too much.”

“Yeah, of course,” Tony said. “We’ve had this discussion four times already, Barnes. Santa isn’t---”

“Daddy!” Mary said, entering the room. She was holding a broken plastic tiara in one hand and had tear tracks down her cheeks. “Daddy, Junor broked my princess crown!”

By the time Tony had “fixed” the crown by taking it down to his workshop, throwing it in the garbage, and grabbing one of the 500 identical crowns he had stored in a secret cupboard, Bucky was gone.

\---

"Bucky?"

He was starting to get very tired of people approaching him gingerly, as though they thought that he was going to snap and start shooting at any instant if they weren't careful. He was starting to understand why this was - not that he remembered anything about it, but because he was finding more and more information about the Winter Soldier and about what he must have done everywhere on the internet - but that didn't mean it was making him any less irritated by it. Grated at him, to be treated like a skittish feral dog.

He looked up from the screen, finally. He was good at recognizing voices, but this one he didn't know.

This smooth voice, apparently, belonged to a tall, leggy redhead. She wore a sleek, cream colour suit that he had to assume had been made for her, in order to fit her as perfectly as it did. She smiled at him, her plum painted lips curling up at the corners, and Bucky realized that maybe this person wasn't actually approaching him with nerves. She just genuinely didn't sound intrusive when she spoke.

"Yes." Bucky said, at last. It wasn't agreeing, it wasn't asking a question. Just acknowledgement.

"I don't think we've been properly introduced, yet." She stepped forward, and offered him her hand. Neatly manicured, simple creamy pearled bracelet on her right wrist. "I'm Pepper Potts."

He slowly took her hand, shaking. Steve had reminded him of this, last week, taking his hand carefully in callused hands that seemed somehow familiar, reminding him how to curl their hands together, how to shake them, only enough, not too hard, Bucky. Curling his fingers with hers, he shook, not too hard. She didn't wince, so he figured he must have done it right.

"I'd ask your name, but I think I already know." Pepper smiled, softly, and took her hand back. Settling beside him on the couch, she set both of her hands on her lap. Something about her spoke of control, and he thought, for a moment, that maybe he'd be afraid of her, if the situation were different. "It's very nice to finally get to meet you, Bucky."

He nodded.

Pepper hesitated, watching him for a moment. She wanted something, he knew that, so he didn't understand why she wasn't just asking.

He didn't mind taking orders. The orders they gave him here were better than the orders he had been given before, even those he couldn't remember. Here, the orders were 'eat at least twice a day', 'take a shower after every work out', or 'watch Dora with me, Bucky'. None of the orders he received here made him uncomfortable, even if it was exhausting to remember if he had eaten, or when he had last slept. (Steve made him report on that.) Pepper Potts could give him orders. As long as it didn't interfere with his primary mission - keep the children safe - then he didn't mind.

"Do you remember Natasha?"

Bucky's eyes narrowed. "Romanoff."

Pepper's eyes lit up. He was startled by how beautiful she was. He could see that she was an attractive woman, he wasn't blind, and he'd long ago learned how to measure a person's appearance. Bucky could see that she was aesthetically pleasing, but when she really smiled, she was really stunning. Joy all but tangible in her eyes, face all but glowing. "You do remember her."

Bucky frowned. "Ballet dancer."

"Well," her bright joy faltered a little, then she laughed softly, ducking her head. "She was, once upon a time. You... she's here, you know. She grew up from the ballet dancer you knew, I - here, let me show you."

Pepper fumbled at the pocket of her sleek jacket, and tugged out her phone. She flicked at the screen for a moment, then offered the StarkPhone towards Bucky, smiling.

The photo she was offering him was of another woman. Red hair like a fire curling around her chin, she was laughing, motioning as though trying to convince the photographer to stop taking the picture, but she wasn't actually trying all that hard.

Bucky tried to place her. Tried to pull any remembrance of that laughing face out of his files, to pluck her from his memory, but there was no trace of her in his thoughts. He couldn't force the faint inkling he had of "Romanoff the dancer" to connect with this photo. The two things weren't synonymous. Weren't connected.

Finally, he just offered the phone back, and shook his head.

Pepper smiled again, but sadly, this time. "I guess that's likely, really, she's been sort of avoiding you. I think she's embarrassed. She - she loved you, once."

That still didn't give her any identity in his memory.

But he understood the way she curled her fingers around the phone, Natasha's photo still burning on the screen.

"You love her. Now."

Pepper looked up from the phone, whip quick, then her expression softened. "Don't tell anyone."

Bucky smirked slightly. "Is that an order?"

She grinned. "You better believe it is."

"Yes, ma'am."

\---

"Only three more sleeps til Christmas." Cherry informed Bucky, seriously.

He glanced at her, looking up from his StarkPad. She was laying on the back of the couch, on top of the cushions, and had made herself some kind of fort out of cushions. Inside this miniature forts were an assortment of miniature Avengers that Tony insisted were called "action figures". Natasha had seen then, rolled her eyes, and said, "Yeah, those are dolls."

"How do you know?"

She rolled her eyes. "Don't you have an advent cal'der?"

Bucky's brows furrowed, and he shook his head. "No. What is an advent calendar?"

"Lemme show you!" The girl hurtled off of the back of the couch, sneakered feet thumping onto the cushions with a recklessness that had Bucky reaching for her, trying to catch her before she injured herself. Of course, like any other reckless kindergartener, she barely even noticed the hands that were reaching to try to keep her safe, because she was so focused on getting where she had to go. Still, once she'd hopped off the couch, she snagged his metal hand, and tugged him along after her.

The children didn't avoid his metal arm. That was one of the first things he'd noticed, when he'd first begun to stay here. Tony liked to poke and prod at it, but didn't treat it like it was any extension of him. Steve looked at Bucky's arm like it hurt him to even see it, and Clint just liked pinging things off of it. But aside from having stuck a variety of stickers to it, the children just treated Bucky's metal arm like it was no different from his other hand. Cherry just curled her fingers in his metal digits, and tugged him down the hall towards the kitchen.

Bucky understood that Cherry didn't actually live in the Avengers mansion, but she seemed to be there every day when school let out. And apparently she kept an advent calender there.

Cherry dropped Bucky's hand to start dragging a chair across the kitchen floor, the legs squealing and scraping as they went.

"Wait." Bucky halted her with a light press of his hand to the back of the chair. "Where is it?"

Her eyes lit up, and Cherry darted to the counter again, pointing at the cupboard beside the fridge. "Up there!"

Reaching up, he tugged the door open. There were a variety of things in the cupboard, but notable were several thin cardboard boxes.

"Lemme see! Lemme see!" She yelped, bouncing on the balls of her feet, eagerly.

Bucky reached into the cupboard, and tugged out the boxes. They all had brightly coloured pictures on the front, and when he crouched to show them to Cherry, she eagerly tugged out one with a snowman on the front. Plunking herself down on the tiles, she held it up, showing it off, proudly. "Okay, lookit this. There's a whole bunch of little squares. They've got numbers on 'em. And they count down to Christmas. So look, we got three days not open yet. That means three days til Christmas."

Bucky frowned, pushing open one of the little cardboard doors. "What is meant to be behind these?"

"Choc'lates." Cherry beamed at him. "Little choc'lates!"

He scowled. "So Santa Claus bribes you with candy so that you won't resist when he comes to retrieve you. There could be anything in those chocolates."

Cherry's bright smile faded. "...does that mean I can't eat my choc'lates no more?"

Bucky hesitated. "...you can eat your chocolates."

She beamed up at him.

\---

"Haven't seen Bucky at all today," Clint said, idly. He was sitting on the top of a cabinet in Tony's lab, and he probably ought not to be up there, but when the others made bird jokes, he sort of liked to roll with them. It was easier than arguing with them. Though "chirp, chirp, motherfucker" sometimes took it a little too far. "What do you think he's doing?"

Tony shifted up from the pile of presents he was trying to shove into a large bag, and thumped his hands on his hips. "What?"

"Bucky. Barnes. Winter Soldier." Clint rolled his eyes. "Don't tell me you're losing your memory, too."

"I am not losing my memory," he rolled his eyes. "I'm just wondering why the hell it matters that you haven't seen our resident amnesiac. Actually, no, I take that back, I'm wondering why you're in my lab."

"I'm snooping."

"...snooping." Tony repeated.

"Yeah, obviously." Clint smirked. "It's Logan's turn to take care of Cherry tonight, so I decided that it would be a lot of fun to figure out what you're doing. Cause, um... it kind of looks like you're trying to be... are you putting on a fat suit?"

"No," Tony rolled his eyes. "It's a fake stomach."

He hesitated.  "...Tony, okay, I know you're sort of weird, and you and Johnny do some pretty kinky shit, but... why are you putting on a fake stomach?"

"Okay, seriously, this is not some kinky 'Santa Baby' shit," Tony groaned, and started tugging on a red suit that looked rather startlingly familiar. "I'm dressing up as Santa Claus. You know? I'm going to go dump all the presents under the tree, and I figured, just in case the kids wake up and go snooping... I don't want them to see Tony Stark putting presents under the trees. I want them to see Santa Claus. I mean, Maggie's starting to not believe he's real... I mean, Loki's done pretty good, with convincing her that Santa is one of his cousins, so obviously he can do all of this with magic, but..."

"But you're tryin' to give your kids the Christmases you never got?" Clint guessed.

Tony sighed, and picked up a fake beard. "Have you been talking to Johnny? He thinks I'm doing some kind of mid life crisis thing."

"Nope. Haven't been talking to Johnny, but I can see why he'd think that," he shrugged. "I mean, you kinda scream daddy issues, Stark, no offense. I mean, I read that book that whats-er-face, your stalker ex? Anyway, her book about your suit basically being a make up for a little dick. She's a little over the top, but seriously, you have some kinda major daddy issues. Abandoned by a dick of a dad, just you and your butler, and... yeah. Kinda looks like you're making up for your daddy issues by giving your kids everything any kid in a fifties sitcom could have dreamed of."

"Okay, I am not that bad, seriously." Tony said, grumpily, as he hefted his sack of toys. He was dressed in a red suit, white fur lined, big white beard, white curly wig, red hat. Pretty good version of Santa Claus, really. "I'm just... I wanna do things right."

"Yeah. Right." Clint hopped off the cupboard, running his hand through his hair. "Need a hand?"

"Naw. I got it under control." He shrugged, adjusting the bag slightly. "I got it. I mean, really, what kind of problems could I possibly run into?"

\---

But the red coated man with his bowl full of jelly belly didn’t emerge magically from the fireplace despite the fire burning cheerfully in the grate. Rather, he stepped through the living room door, all red coat and white beard and bag of so called “toys” over his shoulder.

He should have seen this coming, he should have known that this omniscient home invader wouldn’t even play by his own rules. Snarling, he straightened, lifting the gun.

“Freeze.”

He’d give him one chance to get the hell out of this house, and the hell away from his current charges. He wouldn’t be protecting the children very well if they were to come downstairs Christmas morning and see blood on the walls.

“Oh my god,” Santa Claus yelped, in a surprisingly familiar voice. “Oh my god, Bucky, put away the gun. It’s me. It’s Tony!”

Bucky narrowed his eyes at him, suspiciously, and clenched his fingers on the gun.

“No, really!” He yowled, tugging his white beard down to expose his face. That was Tony Stark’s face, but Kris Kringle was a master spy, he had to be, to know when everyone was awake and when they were sleeping. It could be an elaborate ruse…

“Steve!?” The Tony-that-might-not-be-Tony-but-actually-St. Nick howled. “Your amnesiac war buddy is trying to kill me!”

 

\---

Bucky, as it happened, did not kill Santa Claus.

He maintained that it was because Tony's appearance had kept the true Santa Claus out of the house, but he was willing to accept that. If all it took to dissuade the philandering, kidnapping, home invading elf, then Bucky was willing to dress Tony up as Kris Kringle every day, if necessary.

So there he sat, in the middle of the living room, surrounded by the children. There was wrapping paper scattered on the carpet, and there was a large bow on the top of Dummy's arm, and though the children were eagerly playing with new toys and generally making a ruckus, the adults seemed to be mostly asleep. Tony was still dressed in red, but his head was resting on Bruce's shoulder, snoring softly. He kept jerking awake, nearly alert, but then his head would end up sinking back onto the doctor's shoulder again. Natasha was sitting on the floor by the fireplace, quietly watching them, and beside her, Logan leaned on the arm of the couch, his own head flopped on Jan's leg.

Letting out a long breath, Bucky glanced down at Mary when the girl offered him something that appeared to be haphazardly wrapped with childish drawings. "Merr' Christmas," she said.

Slowly, Bucky took the little package from her fingers. "What is this?"

The other kids perked up, grinning as they watched him with eager expressions. They expected something from him. The kids were watching him like they wanted him to give them something. But he couldn't understand what, because they were giving him a present. After all, he'd seen them ripping open their gifts. That was how this was meant to work, wasn't it?

Warily, Bucky opened the little wrapped package.

There was a little teddy bear inside of it. It wasn't well made, and something about it seemed to crackle slightly, like maybe magic had been involved in the creation of it. It had a left arm that looked like it had been made of tin foil, and the bear wore a little black mask.

"What is this?" He asked, finally.

"Momma Steve says that they used to have a... a Bucky Bear." Joey said, smiling at him. "Cherry's dad showed us what it looked like, cause he has one at his house. But we couldn't take his, you know, cause... that would be... bad."

"I woulda snuck it for you," Cherry grinned.

"So we made one for you!" Maggie said, proudly. "I'm not that good of a sewer, though. So your Bucky Bear looks sorta... sad. Sorry."

"He's perfect," Bucky said, softly, brushing his thumb along the metal arm of the bear.

"Yeah?" Junior asked, eagerly.

"Yes." He nodded at the boy, smiling faintly at the bear. "I... am glad... you made him for me."

Across the room, Thor huffed softly, running a hand over his face as he yawned, wildly. "Are all of your Midgardian festivities so... exhausting?"

"Yeah, pretty much," Clint shrugged, not even bothering to open his eyes.

"You know," Sam said, from where he was sort of flopped across the other's laps, "If we had listened to Erik and celebrated Hanukkah, none of this would have happened."

"Oh yeah," Bruce murmured. "Next year?"

Sam nodded. "Next year."

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Princess of New York](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3497408) by [Epiphanyx7](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Epiphanyx7/pseuds/Epiphanyx7)




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